by Diana Ballew
Eden glanced at the clock on the wall and decided a needed break was in order. The hospital shutters were wide open, but the odors and oppressive heat made the room nearly intolerable.
“Let’s go outside and talk. I need some air.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Amelia said, her large blue eyes wide and unblinking. “I do declare, honey, you look a tad green around the gills. I suppose this hospital would do it to anybody, though. Honestly, I don’t know how you manage it. I had my little ol’ handkerchief to my nose most of the time I was in here.” She waved her lace handkerchief in the air. “I do admire what you’re doing, helping these poor men. I don’t think I have the stomach for it myself. I wish I did. But you always were a good nurse.”
“I’m just doing what every other nurse is doing these days.” Eden led Amelia by the elbow toward the door.
“Oh, and honey, I was so sorry to hear about your daddy, rest his soul. He was such a kind man.”
“Thank you, Amelia. I cherish your kind words, truly I do.”
She untied her apron and dropped it in the dirty linen basket near the exit. They walked outside to air so thick and humid it stuck in Eden’s throat like a stale biscuit.
Amelia opened her pretty lace parasol, sheltering them from the blinding sun. “My poor sister gets green in the gills, too, but not from any smelly hospital. She gets sick every time she’s with child, and it just goes on for months and months.”
Eden felt the warm blood draining from her face.
“Eden? Are you all right?”
She gets sick every time she’s with child.
While the risk of conceiving a child had always loomed somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, she had been far too busy caring for others to contemplate her own health. Perhaps it had not been the hospital odors, nor her constant worry about Rayce and Isaac, making her feel nauseated and extra tired. Lord knows, she had completely lost track of time lately, each day and night flowing into the next.
God help me. Not only is it possible I’m with child...it’s likely.
“Are you all right?” Amelia repeated, her big eyes bulging with concern.
“Uh, yes, fine,” Eden fibbed, “but perhaps I best be getting home.”
“My carriage is here. Let me give you a ride home.”
She forced a smile. “Yes...yes, all right. Thank you, Amelia.”
As they rode toward Aunt Martha’s, the two women noticed people scurrying about and deserting the streets, appearing as though they were heading for surrounding hills and moving to the roofs of tall buildings.
Once the carriage turned down cobbled Broad Street, Amelia saw a friend closing up shop at the confectionary. She signaled her driver to stop. “Why, hello, Sarah Lynn!” she called. “Say, do you know what everybody’s looking at from the hills and rooftops?”
Her friend talked excitedly of what she had heard. A battle was about to begin, and from the rooftops and tall hills, you could see the white army tents below sprinkling the summer landscape like snowflakes. Everyone she knew was terribly worried they would be forced to swiftly evacuate with their families if the Yankee Army managed to break through our forces and fight their way into the city.
Amelia gasped. “The Yankees here, can you imagine? Let’s get you back to your house, honey. I have to get home in a jiffy myself. Oh, I’m so worried.” She tapped on the roof with the tip of her closed parasol, and the driver continued on his way.
Eden had a hard time listening. If she were with child, she could already be a few months along. As a midwife, she knew unmarried women gave birth to babies all the time, but the shame and disgrace cast upon the unfortunate women could often be brutal. While Amelia chattered about the enemy closing in on the city, she sank back in the seat, like a turtle returning to the safety of its shell. At the forefront of her mind loomed one question in particular: If she were with child, what would Rayce do when he found out?
She loved Rayce with every ounce of her being, more than she ever thought possible, but their love was new and untested. She was younger, sheltered, and saw the world through a narrower view, while he was older, seasoned, and had been through more in his thirty-four years than she would likely ever see in her lifetime. Obviously, he had been with many women, but she knew of no child of his to exist, and surely, Lucy would have told her if there had been. Had he been through this before? If so, did he flee and leave the woman alone? Would he push her aside? Was his independent nature and freedom held above all else?
With uncertainly flooding her mind, there were two things she had absolutely no doubt about: She would never pay a visit to the back alley butchers in Shockoe, and even if she had to spend her entire confinement in the charred ashes of Oak Hill alone, she would never force Rayce to marry her.
Standing with Hiram Johnson, who had been kind enough to escort her to Maury Hill after her shopping, Eden watched the musket shots and shells bursting forth. Billowing clouds of dark smoke twisted high above the treetops amidst the pulsing flashes of lights.
She knew Rayce was involved down below, and the rumors surrounding Stonewall Jackson treading on the heels of the enemy made her heart pound with worry for Isaac and Jimmy. The two of them fighting in the Shenandoah Valley had been one thing, but the thought of them entering the barrage of bullets and blasting shells in front of her was another.
Later that night, she lay awake in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of wagons clanging down the streets, bringing the wounded into the city. From somewhere deep inside her head, she heard Trinidad's voice say, “This is your destiny,” followed by, “If you love him, you must help him.”
By daybreak, the steady roar of artillery continued. She rose early and dressed, her mind set on getting to the hospital as soon as possible.
Maneuvering Aunt Martha’s buggy through the crowded streets proved challenging, as she dodged ambulances carrying wounded soldiers and worried families hurrying about, frantic for any news of their loved ones. Baggage wagons rattled up and down streets, filled to capacity with trunks and personal belongings, as citizens rushed to the outskirts of the city and away from the fighting.
From the moment she entered Chimborazo Hospital, it was clear the fighting had been fierce. War-torn soldiers were everywhere, moaning in agony; their crimson-stained bandages caked with dried blood and mud. Soldiers lay mutilated, some with missing limbs and near death. In each of the wards, there were more wounded than the eyes could see and not enough beds.
“Miss Blair, I’m glad you’re here. We need all the hands we can get,” Dr. Radcliff said as he hurried about. “I need you to bathe the wounds of the men in this section of the room. There’s extra soap, water, and bandages over on the cart. If a soldier is too far gone, move on to the next. I wish we could save them all, but that’s not going to happen.”
Despite the heat, a chill ran the length of her spine. More blood and gore than she had ever seen filled the room. Nurses, doctors, and employees scrambled alongside family members looking for their loved ones as volunteers rushed about. The sounds of suffering, moaning men, filling every inch along the rough-planked floors, echoed in her ears.
“Don’t just gawk, my dear. I know it’s hard, but you have to be strong,” the doctor said before hurrying off to a nearby bed.
“Yes...of course,” she replied, her voice nothing more than a choked whisper.
She moved from bed to bed, doing what she could to help. Several of the men were traumatized beyond words. For others, their stories flowed out in fits and starts, tales from the battlefield oozing from their very souls.
A soldier lying motionless with his back to her caught her eye. His muslin shirt and gray trousers were torn and bloodied. As she slowly inched her feet toward him, the room narrowed, thinning to shadows. She reached down and gently touched his shoulder. He moaned and rolled toward her.
She gasped and dropped to his side. Judging by the bloodied bullet holes in his clothing, it appeared he had been
shot multiple times, but the blast to his cheek made him almost unrecognizable.
“Is it bad, Miss?” he whispered.
“Oh, Patrick...it’s...it’s Eden, I...” She instantly felt her long-held anger evaporate as she stared at him, wearing the gray uniform of the Confederacy. She clasped his hand. “What happened, Patrick? What can I do?” Her eyes filled to brimming at the broken sight of him.
“Eden.” His dark pupils narrowed. “It is you. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven with the sound of your sweet voice again.” He swatted at his bloodied face.
“No—don’t touch it. Let me help you.” She scrambled up and dashed to the cart for water, fresh cloths, and bandages. With her hands full, she returned and crouched beside his bed. As she cleaned and dressed the wound on his face, he stiffened and bit down on his lip until it bled. Tears dripped down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry I’m hurting you.”
He sighed. “There ain’t no use, Eden. I took one in the face, another in the leg. One in the shoulder, too. I don’t think I’m gonna make it outta this scrape.”
“Don’t say that. I’ve seen worse.” She took a wet cloth and gently rubbed the mud out of his long hair and picked out the pieces of pine and wood chips.
He closed his eyes. “Guess you’re wondering what...what I’m doing in gray?”
“Yes, well, the thought did enter my mind.” Her tears fell as small droplets on his bloodied shirt, but she forced a smile. “You seemed to think you looked better in blue, last I remember.”
He opened his eyes and attempted a feeble smile, but only the left side of his lower face moved. “That Major Hampton of yours...he’s quite a man, honey.”
She froze at the mention of Rayce’s name. “How so?”
“Back at that manor of his, he made me realize I hadn’t been living the life of the man I truly could be...the man he knew I wanted to be. He told me all men are worthy of a second chance. If I didn’t make things right, I’d rot away inside a Rebel prison; he’d see to it. So, I guess you could say I didn’t have a choice. But I knew in my heart it was the right thing to do. He said there had to be some good inside me somewhere.” He winced and clenched his jaw.
“Patrick, stay with me, I’m listening,” she said, smoothing his hair from his forehead.
“Where was I? Oh yes, the major. He had me believing in myself. When he brought me to camp, I joined with the Rebs right then and there, where I belong.”
Patrick closed his eyes and a soft snore escaped his mouth.
“Patrick.” She squeezed his hand. “Please, when was the last time you saw Major Hampton? I need to know.”
He squirmed in a sudden fit of pain and clenched his fists.
“Oh, Patrick—please. Stay calm, you’ll only make it worse.” She smoothed his hair, and he settled down. “Please think, when did you last see the major?”
He sighed. “I’m all confused, honey, not feeling myself. Forgive me. I really should have told you about him first thing. Last I saw, the major wasn’t doing so well.”
Her heart sank like a stone in water. “Tell me, Patrick. Please, tell me everything you can remember.”
His blue eyes paled. “I went back to the river where I was to meet him. He was there, but his face looked tinged with fever, and he was talking crazy, like a fever can do to you. We were down along swamps of the Chickahominy, the closest place to hell you can imagine, Eden.” He shivered and snapped his eyes closed as if reliving the nightmare.
“Go on, you’re doing fine,” she said calmly, though her heart raced like a baby bird trapped inside her chest.
“Damn poisonous snakes in the water. Hanging vines. All those mosquitoes...it was horrible. The major brushed off being sick, saying he’d be fine, but I knew better. I’ve had swamp fever, and I knew I needed to find help.”
Eden’s stomach twisted. Trinidad’s dream. “Go on, what happened? Did he get help back at camp? Oh, my Lord, is he in here with you?” Her gaze darted about the room.
“I wish I could tell you, honey. There’d been firing all around us in those thick woods all day. He told me to get back to the regiment. He’d complete his mission. Mark my words, Eden, if we win these rounds of brutal battles, it’s due to Major Hampton.” He paused. “You know, once I joined up with the Rebs, I was told by General Stuart himself I was to take orders directly from Major Hampton. So, when he told me to leave and head back to camp...I did. But I left knowing I’d get him help. I was moving through those woods, when out of nowhere, damn Yanks fired from inside the thickets.” He heaved a deep sigh and pointed to his face. “They shot me up good, as you can see.”
“And the major?” she asked in a strangled voice.
“Last I saw, he was on the banks of the Chickahominy looking like he could fall over dead any minute and...well, I know you love him, Eden, so I can trust you with this.”
Patrick hesitated, his gaze shifting, surveying the room. He gestured with a curled finger for her to come closer.
She moved in toward his face.
“There’s more,” he whispered. “He wasn’t just sick and talkin’ crazy, he was also dressed in a Yankee captain’s blue uniform near the raging battle lines.”
Chapter 17
After leaving Patrick’s side, Eden searched the wards for Rayce in the event he had been transported to the hospital. Cannon fire roared in the distance, while wounded men lying shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor pleaded for help as she skirted by.
She spotted Amelia heading toward her. “Amelia, how’s your brother-in-law?”
“The same, I’m afraid.” She held her handkerchief to her nose and sniffed. “I hear the fighting’s been horrible. Now I’m worried about the rest of my family. Last I heard, General Lee attacked the Yankees, and more fighting’s going on near Gaines Mill.”
“What have you heard on General Jackson’s troops—anything?”
“Just that they’re not far away, and I must say, hearing Stonewall Jackson is nearby just gives me an extra dash of hope. I do pray they’ll keep those filthy Yanks from occupying our city like that wretched General Butler did in New Orleans. I shake at the very thought.”
“I’m sure our men are doing their very best, and we can’t ask them for more than that,” Eden reassured her.
“I’m sick with worry for my husband, Eden. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to him. When I visit my brother-in-law and look around at all these boys piling in here like injured cattle, I know the very same thing could happen to him—maybe even worse.” She dabbed the corners of her eyes with a lace handkerchief.
Eden looped her arm with Amelia’s and said the appropriate things one person says to another to comfort them. She put on a brave face for her friend’s sake, but all she could think about was Rayce.
There had been no news from him. Nothing. He had promised he would get word to her as soon as possible, and after the recent series of nearby battles, he would have wanted to put her mind at rest.
She knew Rayce was in serious trouble. Every time she thought of him now, she imagined him ill, lying prostrate on the banks of the sluggish Chickahominy—barely conscious, perhaps dying. To complicate matters further, he had last been seen dressed in the uniform of a Yankee near the fighting lines and at the mercy of either army. The possibility of a horrible outcome was very real.
Finally home after the long, draining day, she trudged up the stairs. Eliza met her at the top.
“How’s she doing?” Eden asked.
“Take a look for yourself, Miss.”
She entered the bedroom and saw Aunt Martha sitting up and drinking tea. “Well, look at you. I must say you’re looking like a woman on the mend.” She placed her hand on Aunt Martha’s forehead. “And you’re considerably cooler.”
“This may sound most unladylike, but I woke up in a pool of my own sweat this morning. I looked like an old mare after a ten-mile run. I’ve felt better ever since.” The older woman coughed and leaned her head against the propped-up pill
ow behind her. “The coughing is still a mean bear, but I do feel better.”
“The cough will likely last a while. The breaking fever is a sure sign you’re not getting any worse, though, so we should all count our blessings.”
Eliza nodded in agreement.
“Eden?” Aunt Martha jutted out her bottom lip. “I have something to ask you.”
“Yes, Aunt Martha?”
“Heavens, child! Call me Aunty like Lucy does.”
Eden smiled. “Yes, Aunty.”
“Eliza tells me you’ve taken to driving the buggy out alone to the hospitals. Is this true?”
Eden flashed the servant a sharp glance, and Eliza’s shoulders instantly shrank against the flowered wallpaper.
“It’s true, but—”
“A woman alone must be careful of rumors and innuendo, my dear. Traveling without a companion just isn’t safe, anyway.”
Eden swallowed a threatening chuckle. Like all good Southern women, Aunt Martha still held her honored principals in high regard, even if the world was shattering to pieces around her.
“What’s the latest on our boys? Eliza here hasn’t told me a thing—said I didn’t need to worry my ol’ gray hairs about it until I was feeling better. But I hear the cannon fire. I hear those rattletrap ambulances rolling down the streets. What’s been happening?”
Eden relayed all she had heard from the soldiers in the hospitals and Amelia’s latest news about recent battles. She told her about citizens taking to rooftops and hills, and the scenes of anguish and bloody gore at the hospitals. She chose not to mention what Patrick had told her about Rayce. To put Aunt Martha in a tizzy at this point of her recovery would be risky.
“Bless his heart, General Jackson’s coming. Well, hallelujah!” Aunt Martha cocked her head and studied Eden’s face. “What of Isaac—anything? Lucy must be beside herself with worry.”
“Nothing.”
“Jimmy?”
“No. And I’ve asked around everywhere. I pray they stay safe.” Eden started for the door.